I slam the bottle on the counter. “I’m notgay, Brett.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just stares at me like I said the most irrelevant thing in the world.
“Okay? It doesn’t need to be that simple, dude. You’re smarter than that. Bisexuality is a thing. Fuck, maybe it's just Kit for you, and that’s valid, too.”
I can hear my pounding heart in my head. I just stare at my brother, and he takes my silence as a reason to continue.
“He wouldn’t expect you to label yourself. But if he knew that yousee him, Bowen. Like he sees you? I wouldn’t have to see both of my best friends hurt. He misses you, and I know you miss him.”
I still don’t respond. I’m not even sure I can.
Brett shakes his head, walking to the door, but pauses at the threshold to the stairs.
“What if it ruins our friendship?” I ask the question hesitantly, barely more than a whisper.
I’m not sure he hears me, but he eventually looks at me over his shoulder and shrugs. “Aren’t you already?”
Then he’s gone, leaving me with my stupid fears and confusion.
I'm not… waiting up. I just don't feel like being inside.
That's all.
I've been sitting here long enough for the rough wood of the porch to dig lines into my palms. That's why I curl my fingers, not because it pisses me off that the shitty car has been sitting next door, idling for the last five minutes.
I don't look. Don't watch to see if the douchebag will end theirdatewith a kiss. I sit until I see the stranger who wears my best friend's face walk up his driveway, out of the corner of my eye.
I sit until the door to his house closes. Until the sound of the obnoxious muffler is long out of earshot.
Then, I'm tired enough to go to bed.
I don't think about the fact that we said nothing to each other. Nope. Don't think about it at all. It definitely doesn't hurt.
Kit
Age 17
I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Brett upset. Like, really upset. Brett’s default is laid back; he’s too easygoing to allow things to affect him.
Most of the time.
It’s hard to watch now, and even harder knowing he’s mad on my behalf. Maybe even madatme?
My stomach is in knots, watching him pace back and forth in my driveway between our houses. I can still feel the echo of the slammed car door that startled me out of the mental replaying from hell. I don’t think Brett haseverslammed a car door. He just doesn’t react that way. Slamming car doors and looking way more like Bowen than I’ve ever seen him. His brows are lowered in frustration.
“Brett…”
“Don’t.”
My eye pulses, my eyelid swelling more by the minute. My lip is busted, the dried blood pulling at my face when I wince. I hurt all over.
Brett’s knuckles are bruised, but other than that and a faint red mark on his cheek from a weak punch that just barely landed, he’s unharmed.
I won’t say that being openly gay has been easy. It hasn’t. There were plenty of people that risked pissing off Tucker and the twins to still let me know what they think of me. But the guys protected me. Always. Even when shit has been weird and hard between Bowen and me.
But…
But. They protect metoomuch.
